


I Like What You Say

by RoseByAnyOtherName17



Series: Everybody's Changing (You Are Too) [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Faeries - Freeform, Fluff, Loss of Control, Love, M/M, Pain, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 19:37:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11881383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseByAnyOtherName17/pseuds/RoseByAnyOtherName17
Summary: Derek woke to the faeries screaming in agony and Stiles standing at the center of them, magic electrifying the air around him. "Let him go," Stiles said flatly, and when nothing happened, their shrieks only grew louder.





	I Like What You Say

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy!

When Derek woke up to Stiles’ scent being the only thing he could smell, he smiled into the other’s neck and considered feigning sleep just to stay there longer. But he could hear movement in the kitchen and Scott would ruin it just as soon as _he_ woke up too, so he eased himself up, pulling his leg back from under Stiles’ slack hand on his thigh, and then Derek just stopped and looked for a moment at his eyelids fluttering in sleep, at the way he twitched like he couldn’t help himself. He had never thought that Stiles would be so still while he slept, but then, it had been a long time, and Stiles had changed more than Derek ever imagined he would.

 

“He thinks he isn’t good enough for you,” Malia said behind him. She had shifted during the night and was naked now but for the throw blanket draped over her shoulders and pulled tight across her chest. “That’s why he’s been avoiding you since you kissed him.”

 

“How do you know that?” Derek asked quietly.

 

“Because he told me last night.” Malia stood up, carefully keeping the blanket around her so that only her legs remained exposed once she was upright. “He’s afraid of hurting you or holding you back from something—someone—better. But he’s also afraid of you hurting him.”

 

Derek frowned. “I would never do that. He would know if he gave it a chance.”

 

“Giving you a chance means opening himself up to everything he’s kept closed off since he broke up with Lydia,” Malia pointed out.

 

Derek looked back at Stiles, who was slowly coming out of sleep now, and he had only seconds. “He should know by now that I know better than anybody what that feels like.”

 

Stiles was awake now, eyes still closed but his breathing and heart getting just a little faster, the kind that came with consciousness. When he did open his eyes, they were bright green for a brief second before fading back to honey-brown. He didn’t seem to notice, rolling his neck until there was a sharp _crick._ He focused on Derek and smiled for a second, unguarded, and Derek just had to smile back, warm all over. But Stiles remembered, and his eyes fell as he muttered, “Morning,” and got to his feet, swaying slightly until he gained his balance and could move into the kitchen for water.

 

Malia was moving too, undoubtedly going to find her clothes and then shower. “He’s going to try to convince you not to if you ask him,” she told Derek.”

 

“It won’t work.”

 

The corner of Malia’s mouth twitched. “Trust me, I know. The affection coming off of you is sickening.”

 

Derek rolled his eyes, but then Stiles came back in with a mug of coffee and his mouth went dry, and Malia laughed as she made her way up the spiral staircase.

 

**

 

Stiles stopped avoiding him after that, but Derek noticed how careful he was not to get close like that night. Stiles never went out of his way, but Derek could see anyways, and it frustrated him to remember what Malia said. How could Stiles not be good enough? He knew everything Derek had done, before and after meeting all those years ago, and yet _Stiles_ wasn’t good for _Derek?_ What could he have done to make himself think that? What had happened that was so bad he had to withdraw from everyone and completely dismiss the thought of being with someone?

 

He wanted to kiss Stiles again, to hold him still and just kiss him until Stiles realized that Derek didn’t want anything else. Years ago the thought would have alarmed Derek, but now he was just irritated that nothing was coming of it. When Stiles forgot to guard his emotions with magic, Derek could tell that he wanted this too. They could be good together, Derek _knew_ they could, if Stiles would stop being so damn stubborn and self-sacrificing and just let it happen. Even so, he couldn’t blame Stiles for resisting; he used to do the same, until he finally got tired of fighting and feeling guilty. He had seen his mother, had felt her love for him even through death. She didn’t blame him. Cora didn’t blame him, which he learned when he finally told her after being with her and her pack for months. So he stopped blaming himself. If he could just pull Stiles out of the same mindset, they would be amazing.

 

He was thinking about it all when the faeries materialized into his apartment and vanished with him. He was hardly able to put up a fight, and he could only blame himself for getting so lost in his own head as to not realize they were coming. He should have gotten a few seconds’ time to prepare, because the fae couldn’t just appear; their coming was always preceded by a distinct shift in the air, something otherworldly and magical. But when they were chaining him up against the roof of a cave (at least they were still in the preserve), he thought maybe he hadn’t felt the shift because he’d become so used to Stiles radiating magic. It was a familiar feeling now, even if it was different from the faeries’ particular brand of magic.

 

He didn’t even bother asking what they wanted with him—they wouldn’t answer, at least not in a language he could understand. He was spread-eagled against the rock ceiling and already it was getting hard to breathe, but almost as soon as he thought it the pain in his chest eased. So they wanted him alive and unharmed, just unable to fight back.

 

They chattered amongst themselves on the floor of the cave, sitting in a circle ten feet beneath him. Derek could tell that they were agitated and maybe arguing by the way one would flutter into the air every few seconds, voice raising, before settling after a quick word from another. They didn’t look at Derek at all.

 

The fae were smaller than humans, but not the comical Tinkerbell size that Disney had created. Their features were completely human, until you looked a little closer; their faces were too symmetrical, their eyes just a little too solidly colored, their hair too soft and shiny. They were delicate creatures, but strong, and beating one in a fight was no easy feat. No one knew exactly where they came from, or where they went when they were finished with their business, only that they definitely did not reside on Earth. His mother had never really liked their kind, but she was respectful when they appeared in Beacon Hills because an alliance was better than being enemies, especially because the fae were so unpredictable.

 

But Derek didn’t know if this group had known Talia Hale.

 

He knew it was only a matter of time before someone realized he was missing; there was a pack night tonight at the loft and Derek was meant to stop by early to help Mason and Corey make dinner. But with the way he had been taken, there wouldn’t be a scent to track, no way to find him, and it would still be a few hours before anyone would go looking for him anyways. By then, the traces of magic in his apartment would be gone. It would be next to impossible for the pack to find him.

 

The minutes crawled by slowly, and Derek was developing a crick in his neck where he kept trying to hold his head up rather than let it hang. Apparently the fae weren’t concerned with small pains like that, because they did nothing to help it the way they did with his breathing, nor the way his wrists were beginning to chafe from the manacles keeping him pinned to the ceiling, even through his sweater. There wasn’t much light inside the cave to begin with, but it was fading now, becoming even darker, so he figured the sun must be going down. The faeries had all fallen silent a little while ago. The pack would know he was missing by now, but they wouldn’t know where to start.

 

“Is there any way you can let me down so I can go take a leak?” he said finally, voice scratchy from the dryness of his throat. None of the fae even looked at him, but the pressure on his bladder eased immediately. It was disorienting, so much that he wanted to check to see if he had actually pissed himself, but it was pitch black now. He couldn’t see anything except for their silhouettes lit up by the slight glow coming from them all. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t really smell anything either, and as soon as he tried to concentrate on that, he felt his mind drifting away. Focusing on anything was becoming impossible the harder he tried, and for a second he panicked, wondering what was wrong with him. “What did you do to me?” he demanded, but his voice was quiet, uncertain, like he didn’t even know what he was trying to say. His claws were coming out, his eyes flashing, he knew it, but he couldn’t control it, couldn’t anchor himself long enough to make it stop. “Stop!” he roared, losing himself completely and struggling to remain inside his own head long enough to stay human. They were scrambling his mind somehow and everything was going too fast, too slow, standing still and then racing all over again until Derek thought he was going to be sick.

 

_Think about Stiles,_ a little voice said to him, but Derek was too far gone to stay awake anymore, and passed out just to escape the torment.

 

**

 

He woke up because of the unearthly shrieks sounding below him and the pounding headache that made him dry heave, stomach clenching even though he could curl up the way he wanted to, chained to the ceiling as he was.

 

Opening his eyes hurt, focusing on the scene below him hurt, opening his mouth to gasp at the sight of the faeries writhing on the ground _hurt,_ but he did it anyways because Stiles was standing at the center of their circle with anger in his eyes and electric energy radiating off of him. Scott was at the mouth of the cave with Malia and Liam. When he went to take a step forward, Stiles snarled, “Don’t,” and he stilled completely, eyes flashing with something that looked like fear. Derek didn’t have to wonder why Scott looked afraid of Stiles right then, because in that moment Stiles was terrifying.

 

Derek had always thought that the fae were the strongest beings alive, but Stiles was keeping them pinned down without lifting a finger, and apparently it was agony to them by the way they were screaming.

 

“Release Derek _now,_ ” Stiles said in a low voice, almost a growl.

 

A single faerie groaned, voice finally failing her. “We cannot,” she gasped, soft and agonizing.

 

“You will.” Stiles curled his hand into a fist at his side and the answering wails were deafening.

 

“Stiles, stop!” Scott yelled, but Stiles’ eyes burned green, and the horrible sounds the fae made only grew louder.

 

“If you don’t release him right now I will make sure that you don’t die for a very long time, do you understand me?” Stiles murmured. Derek could hardly hear him over the faeries’ shrieks of pain. “You will feel every part of yourselves falling to pieces. You will burn from the inside out, you will beg for it all to end, unless you undo whatever you’ve done to him and let us leave unharmed.”

 

“You must stop this,” the faerie who had spoken before moaned. Stiles gazed down at her without mercy, without speaking, until the manacles suddenly loosened from Derek and he was falling, completely incapable of bracing himself.

 

He didn’t have to; Corey appeared as if from nowhere, stepping forward with Hayden to catch him and ease him to the ground. Lydia sat cross-legged on the floor and held Derek’s head in her lap, supporting him while Mason looked him over, running quick hands over Derek’s chest and arms. He let it all happen, was vaguely aware of the screams dying out, of Stiles’ voice telling the fae that they would _never_ return to Beacon Hills. “If you do, your suffering will be endless,” he swore. In another moment, he was shoving Mason out of the way and straddling Derek’s waist, cupping his face in his hands. His eyes still blazed emerald, magic still sparked from him, but it didn’t hurt the way the faeries’ had. It was warm, soothing.

 

“He doesn’t have any sort of damage, inside or out,” he heard Stiles say as if from far away. “I need someone to get the Toyota as close as possible. Derek? Can you hear me?”

 

“Stiles,” Derek managed. “Stiles.”

 

“I need you to stand,” Stiles told him gently, a stark contrast from the way he had spoken to the fae. “Can you do that for me?” Derek nodded, or he thought he did, because Stiles whispered, “Easy now. Lydia, help me.” They pushed and pulled him to a sitting position, putting his face directly in line with Stiles’ in the process. He stared into the other’s eyes, mesmerized by the emerald that met his, tipping forward until their foreheads met in the middle. “There you go,” Stiles said softly. The green drained from his eyes, leaving honey behind. “Come on, Derek, you can do this.”

 

Derek felt himself being pulled slowly to his feet, until he was swaying into Stiles’ grip on his forearms. “How did you find me?” he muttered somewhere into Stiles’ shirt.

 

“Magic leaves traces,” Stiles reminded him, “and I’m practically made of the stuff now.”

 

“You’re amazing,” Derek said truthfully, leaning into Stiles even more as he looped an arm around his waist and began walking.

 

“You’re delirious,” Stiles countered, but he was smiling with relief. “Don’t ever do that again.”

 

Derek tried to tell him he didn’t _do_ anything, but he was so sleepy and warm now, and protesting was just too much effort.

 

**

 

He woke up to scents and sounds that didn’t belong to his apartment and almost tore through the sheets he was under in panic.

 

“Relax,” a voice beside him said quietly, and he immediately did. “You’re at my place. Deaton didn’t think you should be left alone for a couple days.” Stiles was sitting up against the headboard on the other side of the bed, head tilted to look down at Derek. He looked exhausted.

 

Derek didn't bother trying to sit up; he could feel the dizziness creeping in at the edge of his vision just turning his head to look up. “How long was I out?”

 

“A day and a half,” Stiles admitted. “You were actually sleeping for the last few hours, but before that it was more of a comatose state, so I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

 

“Have you slept at all?”

 

“Here and there.” Stiles shrugged. “It was kind of hard.”

 

Derek grinned. “Worried about me?” he asked, a little hoarsely. His throat was really dry.

 

Stiles held his gaze. “Yeah, I was.”

 

Derek searched his eyes, completely brown without a hint of green. “You’re still fighting this.” He could see it in Stiles’ face, broken open with honesty. His heartbeat was steady, unmasked by magic, but it jumped at the words, just barely a question.

 

“You saw what I did to the fae,” Stiles reminded him. “I wasn’t anything but angry then, and now I don’t feel any guilt for it. They took you, I felt it when they took you. It was magic that wasn’t mine, completely unfamiliar, and I know every bit of magic in this town. I know the Nemeton, I know werewolves, I know everything else. But I didn’t know them, and even clear across town I felt it when they took you, Derek. It made me _so angry_ that they thought they could take you away, and when I found them, I was completely ready to tear them apart. When I saw _you,_ up there on the ceiling, I wanted to burn them from the inside out, until there was _nothing_ left of them.” Derek watched Stiles’ eyes steadily grow greener until he blinked and suddenly it was gone. “That’s why, Derek. I’m cruel, and you don’t need that in your life. No one ever should, but you especially. You’ve been through so much shit and I refuse to add to it.”

 

He handed Derek a bottle of water. Derek drank half of it before sitting up completely and looking Stiles square in the face. “You believe that, but it’s only part of the reason. So tell me the rest, Stiles. Tell me why you really don’t want to try this with me.”

 

“I could hurt you.”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

Stiles ran a hand through his hair and finally looked away. “God, fine, I’m scared! Is that what you want to hear? I’m terrified that I’ll hurt you, or that you’ll hurt me, or that we’ll do this thing and then someone better will come along and you’ll be stuck with me because you’re too good to leave.”

 

Derek shook his head. “Why did you bring me here, Stiles? If you don’t want this to happen, if you’re scared of it happening, you should never have put me in your bed. You should have let someone else look after me.”

 

“I couldn’t do that.” Stiles slumped back, defeated.

 

“Why?” Derek persisted.

 

“You know why, you asshole.” Stiles scowled and moved to get out of the bed, but Derek grabbed his wrist and pulled him around until Stiles fell half on top of him. “ _Derek,_ ” he said, exasperated, trying to push off even though Derek had an arm wrapped around his waist now, tugging him down between his legs. He fit a hand around the back of Stiles’ neck and leaned up to press their mouths together, kissing him with all the tenderness he could muster. Stiles made a noise deep in his throat, kissing back even as he tried to move away, and Derek pulled back enough to look him in the eyes, which flickered green every other second. “You can have this,” he breathed against Stiles’ cheek. “I want you to. I want us to. God, Stiles, _please._ ”

 

Stiles whined and kissed him again, drawing Derek’s bottom lip in between his and sucking on it briefly. His entire body just went limp, sinking down onto Derek in the best kind of way. “You don’t get to do this whenever you want,” he gasped into Derek’s mouth. “It isn’t fair.”

 

“It’s fair.” Derek pressed his lips to Stiles’ forehead, his cheeks, his mouth again. “It’s more than fair.” He hooked an ankle around Stiles’ and rolled up into him, letting his head fall back. Stiles tensed above him, and then leaned down and pressed his lips to Derek’s throat. The action drew forth a long shudder, making Derek’s toes curl. His hips jerked without his permission when Stiles decided biting was a good idea, and he knew his eyes were blue now but he didn’t really care, because when Stiles looked at him to check if it was okay, his eyes were burning green and weren’t showing signs of shifting back to normal. So Derek pushed his hand underneath Stiles’ shirt and curled it over his rapidly beating heart, thumb brushing against the other’s nipple and making him huff out a surprised breath.

 

Stiles had a hand around Derek’s waist now, fingertips brushing where skin disappeared into the pajama pants that he knew weren’t his, had to be Stiles’. He stretched his body out in a way that made Stiles slip, his hand skimming over Derek’s dick. Stiles fisted it reflexively—Derek could tell by the look of surprise on his face that he didn’t mean to—and muttered, “Holy shit,” and began jerking him off with purpose. Derek slotted their mouths together again, working Stiles’ shirt up his body until he had to sit up and remove it. Derek sat up to, shucking his own shirt off, and pulled Stiles against him once more so he could bury his face in his neck and suck a mark onto Stiles’ collarbone. Stiles was hitching up against him in helpless little movements, one hand still between them like he could get it in Derek’s pants again, even though they were pressed too tightly together for anything like that. So Derek shoved his hand down the back of Stiles’ pants and helped him grind down into him with the handful of his ass he’s palming obsessively now, because every time he tightened his fingers Stiles made a choked noise in the back of his throat.

 

Derek was so aggressively gripping Stiles’ ass that he didn’t even realize that he’d pushed his pants down far enough to feel the other’s dick smack against his stomach. Stiles _moaned_ , tried to squirm away enough to pull his pants off completely, but Derek was way ahead of him, working them down his legs until Stiles just had to roll over and kick them away. He wasn’t wearing underwear, and it occurred to Derek for the first time that he wasn’t either. He filed it away to ask Stiles about later, maybe when Stiles didn’t have a hand around both of them, jerking them together, and the friction was amazing but what made Derek let go was the way Stiles pressed his lips to his temple so, so softly. Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles and shook for several moments, and almost missed it when Stiles came because it was completely silent. His hair was sticking to his forehead, his eyes were wide open and green and staring into Derek’s in shock, and then utter bliss. Derek let himself collapse onto Stiles then, moving just enough to pull them over onto their sides.

 

Stiles was breathing hard, still shivering with the aftershocks of it. “Derek,” he whispered. “Derek.”

 

“I swear to God, if you say this was a mistake I’m going to blow you right now.”

 

Stiles groaned. “I can’t do that again that fast.”

 

“Tough shit.”

 

Derek looked at his slowly-browning eyes, found Stiles smiling, and laughed hard until Stiles pushed him onto his back and flopped down half on top of him, head on Derek’s stomach and fingers entwined with each other.


End file.
